


Lars, A Special Little Boy

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children, Coming of Age, Gen, Growing Up Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:59:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Not everyone is born the same. Some will grow to be lawyers, doctors or businessmen. Some will only be really good at making banana Jell-O salad. But for little Lars Ulrich, when he was born, he was something special. Very, very special.</i> An AU based on the story of "Matilda."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lars, A Special Little Boy

**Author's Note:**

> For Audrey.

_Not everyone is born the same. Some will grow to be lawyers, doctors or businessmen. Some will only be really good at making banana Jell-O salad. But for little Lars Ulrich, when he was born, he was something special. Very, very special._

***

_Six years later…_

Saturday morning. No reason to get up. After a crazy evening of jazz music, a lot of booze and a lot of pot, Torben and Lone Ulrich wanted to stay in bed and enjoy a lazy morning.

That wouldn’t be the case.

_BANG BANG BING BONG_

_BANG BANG_

_BANG BANG BANG_

Torben groaned and turned over on the bed, hugging his pillow to him. “Lars is up.”

Lone groaned too. “I know.”

“Your turn to make breakfast.”

“Nope.”

“Lone.”

“You do it.”

_BANG BANG BAH BANG—_

Silence.

Torben and Lone’s heads perked up from the pillows.

Nothing.

Lars was quiet.

They turned to each other for a brief moment, and then bolted out of the bed to the kitchen.

“Lars?” Lone pushed ahead of her husband. Torben was on her heels. “Are you—”

They stopped together in the doorframe to the kitchen. Their mouths dropped and their eyes opened as one.

Standing at the stove was their five-year-old son, hands moving in front of him as if conducting an orchestra. And he was. A breakfast orchestra. A whisk moved around in a bowl of pancake mix. Eggs cracked on the edge of the pan. A plate rested on the table, where a spatula moved from another pan a perfectly cooked pancake. A knife lifted into the air and scooped up some butter, slapping it on top.

Lone’s hand drifted to her mouth. “Oh my…”

Lars turned to his parents. He grinned. “Hi.”

Torben’s shaky finger pointed to the stove, and then Lars, and then the stove again. “You… you’re uh.”

Lone’s head shook. “How…”

Lars shrugged. “I dunno. I always do this when neither of you are around.” One of his hands slowly moved to them. The plate levitated underneath Lone’s nose. “Want some?”

His mom promptly fainted.

**

_Others parents would’ve disowned Lars, hired an exorcist or simply ignored what had happened. But Lars’s parents were special too. They were not conventional to begin with, so having a son with telekinesis wasn’t too strange for their tastes. Still, they came across problems._

**

_Three years later…_

She walked into the same situation two weeks prior: the principal, a mother, a classmate she knew Lars didn’t like, and Lars himself. This time, at least, Lars looked guilty.

“Hello, Mrs. Ulrich.” The principal gestured to the open chair in front of him. “Please sit down.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I had to call you in again.”

“It’s fine.” She sat down. “What did Lars do now?”

The offended mother grabbed her son’s face and turned it. “See for yourself!” She pointed at Lars. “Your demon child did this!”

Paint on his clothes. Colored marker on his face. Shapes of hearts and flowers and weird squiggly lines that she’d find easily in Torben’s expressionist paintings. At least there was no “kick me” sign on the boy’s back, from what she could see.

Lone sighed. “Were there witnesses this time?”

“No—”

“Photographic evidence?”

“No, but—”

“Then it wasn’t Lars.”

The mom shot out of her chair. “HE WAS THE ONLY ONE IN THE ROOM!”

“With the teacher,” the principal interjected.

“Her back was turned!”

“And when she turned around,” Lone said, “your son’s face and body were magically covered in paint. Again.”

“HE DID IT! I SWEAR HE DID!”

Lars shrunk into his own chair. “I didn’t…” He even sounded sad too. Lone had to suppress a scoff.

The principal, as usual, bought it. “Mrs. Petersen. Keep your voice down.”

“I don’t see how that _brat_ can keep getting away with things like this!”

“Excuse _me._ ” Lone stood up. “But until you can prove that _my_ son is the one who keeps pulling pranks on _your_ son and his friends, then you have no reason to raise your voice and accuse him of anything, especially of being a ‘brat.’ Really, Mrs. Petersen. Name calling an innocent eight-year-old should be beneath you. Try acting like an adult and take responsibility for your own son before you attack mine.” She offered her hand to Lars, nodding to the principal. “Mr. Thomsen.”

“Mrs. Ulrich.”

The mom’s mouth fishgaped as she walked out. “BUT… BUT HE WAS—” She turned to the principal. “YOU CAN’T JUST—”

“She has a point, Mrs. Petersen…”

The woman’s screams followed them out of the school.

Lone led Lars to the car, her temper slowly tapering off. As much as she knew Lars _was_ the one guilty, she wasn’t going to stand for anyone yelling at her son. Only _she_ could do that. 

She turned to Lars, who was all smiles. “You should’ve seen his face, mom! It was great. He was—”

“How many times have I told you not to use your powers in public?”

Lars’s smile instantly fell away. “But he kept picking on my friends!”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Mean pranks too! You know they put Jan’s head in a toilet once? And Mads got a huge rash from the oak they put in his backpack!”

“I understand you want to protect your friends—”

“And he called my dad weird! Dad isn’t weird!”

“ _Lars_.”

He shut up at her Mom voice. Powers or not, even her eight-year-old still listened to The Mom Voice.

Lars pouted up at her, crossing his arms over his chest. “He deserved it.”

She sighed, resting her hand on Lars’s knee. “You know better, Lars. You have a wonderful gift, and it’s a waste if you use it for petty things such as revenge.”

“But I feel better.”

“I know, but it isn’t right. You’re hurting another person too. I understand you’re doing it to protect your friends, but haven’t you noticed what’s been happening?”

Her heart hurt at the sight of Lars’s little face falling. “They’ve been avoiding me,” he whispered.

“Exactly.”

He turned to his mom. “But I didn’t tell them I have powers!”

“They’re still afraid, sweetheart. Your… reputation isn’t very becoming.”

“Reputation?”

“What you’re known for. What people talk about you.”

Lars’s eyes glossed over. “They hate me?”

“No! Goodness no.” She hugged Lars to her as best she could in the confined space of the car. “It means they don’t understand why these strange things happen around you, and because of that, they’re afraid. They don’t know if these pranks are you or not. ”

“Oh…” Lars sniffled. “And I can’t tell them, huh?”

“It’s for the best you don’t.” She kissed the top of his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart… but I think we should have you move schools again.”

Lars’s answer was the clenching of his tiny fists into her shirt.

**

_Being special wasn’t that special at all. His parents accepted him for who he was, ‘gifts’ and all, but his parents accepted everyone. It wasn’t the same. Kids either looked at him weird, or they didn’t look at him at all. No matter how many times he changed schools, not one of his classmates wanted to come near him._

**

_Two years later…_

Torben peeked out the window of his playroom. Down the street, walking all alone, was his nine-year-old. He was drenched from head to toe, dragging his backpack behind him, his head hanging low.

He sighed. “Still?”

The door opened by the time Torben made it downstairs. He met his son halfway, opening his arms to him. “Welcome home.”

Lars dumped his wet bag to the floor. “Hi.” He completely passed by his father for the kitchen.

Torben’s arms slowly went down. Lone sent him a concerned gaze from the stove, and then turned to Lars at the kitchen table. “How was school?”

Lars shrugged. He folded his arms on top.

They waited for him to say something else. Their usual chatterbox of a son always had something to say, good or bad.

Lars was quiet.

Torben came into the kitchen. “What happened?”

Lars buried his face into his arms.

Lone left the stove for her son. “Lars?” She rested a hand on top of his head. “Sweetheart?”

Lars shook his head no.

Lone bent down on her knees. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Lars’s voice was muffled. Neither Lone or Torben caught his words except the last one: “…anymore.”

Torben flanked Lars’s other side. He rested a hand on his back. “What is it sweetie? You can tell us.”

Lars gave a big sigh. When he lifted his head a little ways up, his face was red. “I don’t wanna go to school anymore.”

Torben’s hand slid up to his shoulder. He hugged him to his stomach. “How come?”

“Because.” He sniffled. “You know why.”

“You are _not_ weird.” Lone petted his head. “You are a special little boy with a great gift.”

“Still weird.”

“So you say.” She kissed his temple. “Well, we do have news to tell you. It might make you happy.”

Lars lifted his head higher, turning to his mom. “Huh?”

Lone grinned. “We’re moving.”

**

_Life worked in mysterious ways. Moving from one country to a whole different one became the change little Lars needed. At the time, though, Lars didn’t know that. Nothing seemed to have changed from before. American kids thought he was weird too. Life was the same, until the day he met another weird little boy._

**

_A few months later…_

“Hey pipsqueak!”

Lars looked up. There was Barry the Bully again, towering over him, flanked by his four best friends. “Yes Barry?”

“Where’s that lunch money you owe me?”

Of course he owed him nothing. No one ever owed Barry anything. But these American kids liked getting paid for their ‘knuckle sandwiches,’ and Lars learned what they were very quickly, when he saw other boys get them. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar in quarters. “Here.”

Barry snatched it up. Counted the quarters. And frowned. “That’s not enough to buy a sandwich! Where’s the rest?”

The others chimed in. “Yeah, where’s the rest?”

“Yeah!”

“Come on, shortie.”

“Small fry.”

“Where is it?” One of them pushed his shoulder. “We’re hungry!”

“You heard my friends,” Barry said. He pushed Lars in the chest. “Hand it over, _Stinky._ ”

They laughed as one. Loud, ugly laughs that hurt his head. Lars hugged his lunch to his chest, his fingers ripping the bag. 

His mom’s overpowered their voices. _Don’t do it Lars. You know better. We don’t want to have you move schools again…_

“That’s all I have,” he whispered. 

“Yeah right! We know where you live, _Stinky_. You’re a rich boy.” Barry grabbed him by his shirt. “You don’t want a knuckle sandwich, do ya?”

Lars ground his teeth. _Don’t do it,_ mom said. _Don’t do it._

“Well?”

He hissed, “No.” 

“Then gimme my money!”

Lars lifted his head. “No.”

Barry blinked. So did the rest of his ‘friends.’ They all looked at him like he was crazy. 

“What did you say?” Even Barry sounded confused. 

“I said no. I gave you my money.” He pushed Barry in the chest. “And I’m not giving you anything else either!”

He felt the eyes of the playground on him. Kids from his class, kids from the younger grades. Even the older kids were looking at him like he was crazy. 

Barry’s confusion turned into typical anger. “Oh yeah?!” He yanked him off the bench by the collar of his shirt. “C’mere, _Stinky!_ ”

Lars flew in the air as Barry threw him, skidding to the ground. He landed face first, skidding across the playground until he finally stopped near the basketball court. Lars coughed up dust, rolling onto his back and up. His hands and cheeks painfully stung, and when he checked his palms, he found them pink and red, some patches of skin peeled off. 

Two big, fat feet stomped and stopped in front of him. Knuckles cracked. 

“You wanna play with the big boys? Then let’s go!”

Lars clenched his fists. Barry grinned at him. 

He hated that grin. 

_Don’t do it, Lars,_ mom warned. _Let it go. Whenever someone makes you mad, just remember to let it go._

Lars struggled to his feet. Barry closed the gap between them. 

“C’mon, Stinky,” he hissed into his face. “Gimme your best shot.” 

_Let it go, sweetheart. It’s not worth it. Let it go._

Barry smelled like rancid tuna. “Unless you’re _chicken._ ”

Lars gritted his teeth.

_Let it go._

The rocks around his feet rattled and rolled around.

_Let it go, Lars._

And they started to rise up…

_Let it go—!_

“Hey.”

Someone’s arm came in front of Lars’s chest. The rocks instantly fell. No one noticed. 

Then a tall body pushed him to the side. Lars stumbled back and looked up. The sunlight blinded him from the face, but he saw gold-blonde hair down at the nape, a rounded nose… 

“Leave him alone.”

The voice came from him. This kid. A quiet voice that meant business. 

Barry glared. “Butt out of it, Freak. Let the pipsqueak defend himself.”

But the kid didn’t move. He kept his arm out, staying perfectly still. 

“Last warning. Leave. Him. Alone.”

Barry growled. “Fine!” He pulled a fist back. “You can have _his_ knuckle sandwich instead!”

It happened so fast, Lars didn’t have enough time to use his powers. Barry charged forward, and the guy easily swept to the side and caught him with his foot, tripping him over. A fist connected with Barry’s fat gut, sending him to the ground with a loud ‘oof.’ 

The playground was silent. Lars watched the kid stand up and loom over Barry, dusting himself off. 

He suppressed a grin when Barry hugged his waist and wailed. 

“Moooommyyyyy!”

Barry’s friends all rushed to his side while classmates, younger and older alike, all laughed together. Lars rose a hand to his mouth, holding back a giggle himself—and then winced. His hand looked awful now. He checked the other—both of them did. 

_Mom isn’t gonna like this…_

“Hey.”

That voice. That kid again. Lars looked up—and instantly froze. 

Blue eyes. Blonde hair. No smile, but he looked concerned. Friendly. Painfully shy. 

“You should get that checked out.”

Lars nodded. “I will.”

“Mm.”

And then… he walked away. Turned on his heel and walked away towards the other end of the playground, far from people. 

Lars watched him go a few feet, before he chased after him.

“Hey! Hey wait!”

The guy turned around slightly. “What?”

Lars stopped dead in front of him. Caught his breath as he wheezed out, “I’m Lars.”

“James.”

Lars smiled. He offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.” 

James looked down at it and then at him. “Uh.”

Lars’s smiled waned. “Huh?” He checked his hand again. “Oh! Sorry.” He grinned. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’m gonna go to the nurse now. I’ll, um, see you later?”

James shrugged. He turned away again. 

Lars, this time, let him go. He waved at his back. “Bye James!”

There was a giddiness in his step he couldn’t get rid of as he headed to the nurse’s office. James. The kid who saved him. His name was James. 

_Maybe he’ll be my friend…_

** 

_He was different from the other kids. Quiet and shy, so much so Lars rarely heard James say anything outside of ‘hello,’ ‘thanks,’ and ‘bye.’ And Lars liked that. It didn’t matter that James barely spoke to him. Now there was someone else who was holding back a secret, just like him, who didn’t fit in either, that everyone thought was weird. Lars wasn’t going to give up._

**

_Another few months later…_

A new year. Another sunny day. Another lunch alone. And there was James in the far back of the playground, sitting at the base of a tree. 

Lars plopped down right next to him. “Hi.”

James, as usual, scooted away to the other side. 

He picked up his lunch pail and followed him around, plopping back down to the ground. “Hi.”

James glared at him.

Lars grinned back. “How are you?”

“Go away.”

“Cool!” He opened up his lunch pail. “I’ve been hungry all day.”

James picked up his lunch and walked further away.

Lars quickly followed. “Wait up!”

He weaved with James through a few more trees until they were on the other side of the playground. It was a routine Lars wasn’t going to give up on anytime soon. He’d follow James all through the playground, and by the time they sat down to eat, lunch was over. Kids made fun of them both for it, but they made fun of anything. 

James must’ve known today was, yet again, another one of those days. He circled around a tree—Lars got ready to sit down— and then quickly climbed up on top like a monkey. Lars gaped from below, watching James ascend until he was sitting on a branch on high. 

And he frowned when James grinned and waved down at him. 

“Hey!” Lars tried to shake the tree. It made no movement. “ _Hey!_ ”

James dug into his bag and took out a sandwich. 

“Hey James!”

He clearly paid no attention as he took a big bite out of it. 

Lars kicked the base of the tree. “I’ll show you.” 

There were three things he could’ve done. The easiest, and meanest, one was simple: shake the branch enough with his powers and knock James down. But he could actually hurt him, and he didn’t want to do that. He could’ve also moved _James_ himself, but that would’ve freaked him out, as well as everyone else, and he didn’t want to change schools again. Instead, Lars went with the third and hardest option. 

He bit down onto the handle of his lunch pail and got a good handle on the tree. 

_Here goes…_

One by one, he made the painstaking efforts climbing up the large tree. He grunted through his nose and teeth, slipping here and there, but he used the little powers he had in order to balance himself and _will_ himself not to fall down. 

By the time he made it to James’s branch, he wasn’t sure if it was his determination, his powers, or both, but he didn’t care. He flopped over the side, taking the lunch pail out of his mouth, breathing for air so hard he was wheezing. 

_Did it._

He righted himself on the branch, turning over until he sat up straight, his lunch on his lap. When he turned to James, there wasn’t the usual disgust or nonchalance. He found James… smiling at him. The same shy smile from a few months ago. 

“Not bad, pip…” James coughed. “Uh, not bad.”

Lars grinned. “Thanks.” At least James had caught himself. 

James nodded, and then resumed eating. Lars opened up his pail again and found his peace offering of the day: extra cookies Mom packed. 

He grabbed the chocolate chip ones and dangled them towards James’s face. “Want ‘em?”

James chewed, glaring at the bag. “What is it?”

“Cookies.”

“What kind?”

“Chocolate chip. I got peanut butter too.”

James’s eyes widened at the phrase ‘chocolate chip.’ He swallowed his food, and then eyed Lars from the corner of his vision. “It’s only chocolate chip in this one, yeah?”

“Yep. I’ve got a lot.”

“Mm.”

He made James’s decision for him and planted the bag onto James’s lap. “Here you go. Enjoy.”

Lars was biting into his own sandwich when James whispered back, “Thanks Lars.”

They ate the rest of the lunch period together in silence, high up on the branch. No one noticed them come down together, or how Lars gave James the other bag of cookies before he bounded off. And no one saw how James looked at Lars, the bag of cookies, and then Lars again, smiling at him, and then following quietly behind.

**

_Friendship grows over time. For James and Lars, it seemed on paper these polar opposites would never work together. But they were alone. They were ‘weirdoes.’ In that, they found the one thing they were each looking for: one person to understand. Really understand. And they did._

**

_Two years later…_

Late at night. Lone and Torben were fast asleep down the hall. They should’ve been too. After a full Saturday spent at the beach, pigging out on barbecue and sweets, they should’ve been exhausted. It was somewhere past twelve in the morning, the latest James ever slept, and the second furthest Lars had (Torben and he once stayed past three AM). But tonight was one of those rare nights where James opened up, and Lars never missed those opportunities. 

Lars curled up tight underneath the covers. “He left?”

“Yeah. I was… I don’t know. He just left.”

“Has he…”

“I dunno. He came over the house when I wasn’t around.”

Twelve-year-old James was enshrouded in the darkness of his room, curled up to the corner between the bed and the wall. Not even the moonlight seemed to come near him. But Lars did. He scooted closer. James didn’t flinch or scoot away. “Then what happened?”

“Well. That’s it, really. It is what it is now.” He shrugged. “Mom’s been holding the fort ever since.”

“Oh.” He looked away to stare at the wall. “She’s really strong.”

James took a long breath, and then whispered, “Yeah.”

He pressed his forehead to James’s thigh. “You’re strong too.”

“Tch, yeah.”

“You are.”

James shook his head. “Whatever you say.”

There’d be no convincing James otherwise. Lars learned a long time ago when it came to James, there were some things he could challenge him on, and other things he had no chance of ever changing. His opinion of himself was the most obvious one.

James shifted beside him. “So. What about you?”

“Mm… you already know most of it.”

“Yeah, true. Unless—” He playfully poked Lars’s shoulder. “You’re hiding something.”

His face flushed. Thankfully, in the darkness of his room and the way he was laying on the bed, James couldn’t see his face. His forehead was on his thigh, the blankets to his chin. James wouldn’t know. James couldn’t.

“Nah.”

“Heh. Alright.” James’s thigh shifted a little over, away from him. “Well, uh, we better get to bed.”

“Yeah.” His forehead and cheek felt cold as he turned from James. “Thanks.”

“Hm?”

“For. Y’know.” Lars tucked the sheets tighter to him, balling his legs up to his chest. “Telling me stuff.”

The sheets beside him shifted around too. The other side of the bed dipped down. James’s back came close to touching his. And he barely heard James’s soft whisper, once he stopped moving. “Thanks for listening.”

Lars smiled. “No prob.”

He waited for James to fall fast asleep, and then moved the extra pillow at the other side of the room float over to him. Lars slipped it under James’s head and mentally tucked the sheets back around James’s body, before falling finally to sleep himself. One day, he’d tell James the real reason why the kids in Denmark called him a ‘weirdo.’

**

_The sign of true friendship comes in the hardest of times. James, as much as he trusted Lars, still held back from him a lot, and Lars knew it. He understood why. But when the darkest period of James’s young life arose, Lars refused to let him be, no matter how much he protested._

**

_Two more years later…_

“Daddy?”

Torben perked up from his book. His fourteen year old stood in front of him like he was four again. Even then, as a baby, Lars never looked _this_ shy before. “What did you do?”

“Huh?”

“You only call me that when you’ve done something you haven’t.” Torben gave him a look. “Did you use your powers?”

“No!”

“Yet?”

“Uh…” Lars chewed on his bottom lip.

Torben sighed. “Lars.”

“It’s for James!”

“Mm.” He closed his book. “What about James?”

The lecture in him disappeared when he saw Lars turn completely vulnerable in front of his eyes. “It’s his mom.”

Torben sat up right. “Yes?”

“She’s, um. She’s not doing so well.” Lars’s voice dropped. “Neither is James.”

Torben moved the book off his lap. “ _Min_ _yndling_ …”

“Can’t I help her? Maybe I can, I don’t know, convince her or something? I don’t know if I can do that, I don’t think I can mentally make people do things, but I can try—”

Torben shook his head no.

Lars’s eyes were wet. “She won’t go to the hospital dad.”

He opened his arms out for him, and Lars sunk into his body, hugging him tight. Torben smoothed a hand over his head, the other rubbing his back. “The most you can do is be there for him in this time of need.”

“It’s not _enough_.”

“It’s all you can do.”

“But…” Lars squeezed him tighter. “I have these powers. What’s so great about them if I can’t help his mom?”

He pulled Lars back to look him in the eye, wiping a hand over his red face. “Help your James instead. Be the friend he needs, even if he won’t let you.” He cupped Lars’s face. “Okay?”

Lars nodded. “Okay.” He wiped at his eyes. “Can, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Can James stay over awhile?”

“Of course he can. He’s always welcomed here.”

“Thanks daddy.” He kissed Torben’s cheek. “I’ll go call him.”

When they picked up James, Torben barely recognized him. He was a ghost of a boy, almost floating to the car. He climbed into the backseat with his suitcase, not saying a word. After knowing James for four years now, he grew accustomed to his shyness in a way Lone hadn’t (and probably wouldn’t ever), but this was different. Upsettingly different. James just looked dead.

Even Lone looked concerned when James came into the kitchen. “Hello James.”

He nodded to her, without meeting her eye.

Lars touched James’s shoulder. “You wanna go to my room?”

He shrugged.

“Okay.” Lars’s hand lingered on James’s shoulder, and then let it go. “Call us when dinner’s ready.”

Torben and Lone watched the two teenagers disappear into the hallway. Once they heard Lars’s door closed, they turned to each other, sharing the same concerned gaze.

Dinner passed by without the usual boisterous conversation. Usually James didn’t speak much during dinner, but after four years visiting the Ulrich household, he had felt comfortable enough to talk freely at least with Lars. Instead, they were all quiet. Very quiet. The only time Torben and Lone spoke was to ask James how he was feeling, and offering him an extended stay in their home. Not even Lars talked to James.

“I’m worried,” Lone asked after a week passed by. “Neither of them has said a word to each other. This isn’t them. _Especially_ Lars.”

Torben, deep down, wanted to agree. But when he did his check-ups of the boys late at night, peeking in through the crack of the door, he always found Lars either reading quietly with James, listening to music together side by side on the floor, or lying in bed together, Lars’s hand on James’s shoulder or side. Just by watching them, he knew whatever was between them was exactly that. Between them. And it was exactly what someone as private and shy as James really needed.

A best friend who really, really knew him.

**

_Sometimes friendship wanes. When it’s tried too much, it can peter out, or feel completely dead. Lars himself felt the end was nigh when James seemed to be more involve with girls more than him after his mother’s death. And while he accepted it, he still found it hard. But their friendship wasn’t going to die so easily._

**

_A year later…_

Fifteen-year-old Lars missed the loud door knock in the wave of noise coming from his stereo. Judas Priest was his flavor of the week from Europe, and it was rocking. He banged on his knees, homework forgotten beside him on the bed. Pencils waved in front of him, air drumming with him. His math book floated around in the air as he nodded along to the beat.

The door opened. Lone poked her head in. “Lars!”

“Oh shit!” The pencils and book dropped to the bed and floor respectively. He reached to the stereo and lowered the music from far away. “Hey mom, sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She smiled. “There’s someone here to see you.”

He froze. “Yeah?”

She nodded and stepped to the side, opening the door wide.

His heart stopped when James shuffled in like he always did, his head down.

Lone nodded to James. “Have fun. I’ll call when dinner’s ready.”

And James even sounded the same. “Thanks Mrs. Ulrich.”

The door closing was louder than the faint music.

Lars took in the sight of James. Torn jeans. Thin Lizzy t-shirt. Denim jacket. He looked good. Considering the last time he saw James was three months ago, post-Cynthia’s ‘funeral,’ he looked pretty damn alright.

He cleared his throat. “Um. Hi James.”

James shifted in place. “Hi.”

“How’re you?”

He shrugged. “You?”

“M’okay.”

“Mm.”

James wasn’t looking at him. He kept fidgeting around, and Lars couldn’t stand it. This wasn’t the James he knew. This was the James he first met, when they were ten, and James and he had been through too much to be this awkward around each other.

“Hey.”

He stopped moving. “Hm?”

Lars pushed his book off the bed. “Sit down.”

James finally lifted his head. He looked scared. Confused.

Lars smiled. “C’mon.” He patted to the empty side of the bed.

“Uh.” James nodded. “Okay.”

He made sure James was already turned around and sitting on the bed when he lifted a pillow from the floor to James’s back. James thankfully didn’t jump (probably didn’t see it or was too out of it to notice). He settled back into the cushion, resting his head against the wall. Lars pushed himself up too until their thighs and knees were touching, side by side.

They sat in silence, the only sound coming from the stereo. Priest played on, singing about denim and leather. It didn’t really fit the mood, but it was nice to have in the background. Something to fill in the void at least.

And then, James cleared his throat. “I, uh.”

He looked at the bed. Lars followed his line of sight. 

James’s fingers pulled and pinched at a piece of thread—dangerously close to his own hand.

His cheeks heated up. “Yeah?”

James pulled the string out. Let it go.

“Um.”

His palm rested flat on the bed. Their fingertips were a ghost away from touching.

“I…”

James’s hand twitched closer to his.

“I was, uh, thinking.”

His mouth was dry. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. About…” James’s fingers curled. “About you.”

Time slowed down in the very moment James’s hand rose up and over the top of his hand. It gently squeezed down, a light pressure that reminded Lars _yes this is real_ , and all sensations in his body and mind focused all into James’s palm over his.

And his whispered words too. 

“I missed you.”

_What about her?_ Lars licked his lips. _Isn’t she. Y’know. Isn’t she?_

James’s thumb rubbed the skin. Small circles.

Five months ago, he did the same thing to James’s hand. Quietly watched James’s tears take their time spreading down his cheeks to his chin. He made no sound, no movement as to startle James from exactly what he needed in this moment, except his thumb. And James hadn’t batted it away. They sat side by side on the edge of James’s bed late at night, James still in his suit, Lars in jeans, and they said nothing. Like now.

He knew James so well then. 

And yet… 

Lars turned his hand slowly around under James’s. 

He smiled as James’s fingers twined with his. 

They clasped down together, squeezing firm. A solid grip between them, palm on palm. It felt right. Comforting.

Lars leaned his head onto James’s shoulder.

“I missed you too.”

James never mentioned his girlfriend the whole night. He safely assumed she was out of the picture when James asked to stay over with him, not with her. Eventually James would tell him why, what and when it happened, how things stand between them, and then, that’ll be the last of it. James will be okay after. Okay enough. 

It felt more like old times between them. Less tension. More relaxed. James was still shy, and there was still traces of fear, but the walls were going again. James was his James again. Whatever had happened before meant nothing. 

He watched James sleep on the floor from the comfort of his bed. James never snored. Just little wheezes that made Lars smile. 

With a gentle push of his hand in the air, he tucked a lock of hair behind James’s ear. His hand soon glided in the air, ghosting strokes pressing to James’s scalp and hair. Only once did James stir, murmuring something, and fell back to sleep. 

Lars watched him a bit more, tucking his hand under his pillow, before he too fell asleep. His last thought stayed with him through his dreams.

_Jeg elsker dig, James._

**

_Secrets between friends is commonplace. But secrets are eventually told. As close as James and Lars were, there was still one major secret between them. One Lars wanted to tell to James, but didn’t know how. Unfortunately, the chance was taken away from him, by his own doing._

**

_Another year later…_

“Hey, weirdoes!”

Lars rolled his eyes. “When are they gonna grow up?”

James snorted. 

“Alright, point.”

At the end of the empty hallway stood Ben the quarterback and four of his guardsmen. It reminded Lars too much of Barry the Bully and his four friends all the way back in fourth grade, except now they were in tenth grade, it wasn’t on the playground, and they were alone. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Barry and Ben were related. They had the same ugly features, and the same penchant to call James and he stupid names.

James’s whole demeanor, as usual, changed as Ben and company stalked down the hall. The easy atmosphere between them died, and the walls were up again. Stoic and Cold sixteen-year-old James Hetfield stood beside Lars now, staring the football players down.

Ben looked down over James, smug grin and all. “I hear you’re thinking of joining the team this year, Hetfield.”

James shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You _actually_ think you’re gonna make it?”

James said nothing.

Ben poked James in the chest. “Mute.”

James’s hand beside his hip twitched.

Ben titled his head. “You’re such a freak, Hetfield. There’s no way you’d fit into _our_ Division One team.” Lars stood his ground as Ben turned to him. “Then again, you’d fair better than Shorty there.’

Lars smiled. _If you only knew, dickhead._

Ben frowned a little. “What’re you smiling at?”

“Nothing.” _Just imagining how easy it’d be having you trip during a game._ He turned to James, nodding over his shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

“Aw, don’t be that way, Shorty, I’m just playing.” He grabbed James’s arm. “Besides, me and Freak here are having a conversation.”

James glanced down at his hand. The glare he gave Ben should’ve made him back off.

It didn’t. “So what are you aiming for? Quarterback? Want the top position?”

“Let go.”

Ben did. But he stepped in. Didn’t back off. “You man enough to take me on? Huh?”

James was quiet.

Behind him, Lars’s hands slowly clenched into tight fists.

Fourth grade came back when Ben’s four ‘friends’ chimed in. “Yeah, Freak, come on.”

“Say something!”

“You afraid?”

“Chicken.”

They chuckled as one. Ben pushed James’s shoulder. “You gonna give that speech again? ‘Oh no, I can’t have a physical, it’s against my religion.’ What kind of excuse is that?” And they laughed again, louder than before.

James’s nose flared. His own hands turned into fists.

Lars took a step closer to James’s side.

Ben came too close to James’s face.

“What’s the matter, Freak?” He grinned. “You gonna call _mommy?_ ”

For the first time, Lars saw James’s stoic wall crack.

_Fuck you._ Lars’s nails dug into his palms. _Leave him alone._

James didn’t fight back when Ben pushed his shoulder. He stumbled back a few steps. They advanced.

Ben laughed. “Well, tough shit, Freak.”

James seemed to shrink when Ben loomed over him.

The others seemed to not notice Lars anymore as they circled around James like bloodthirsty vultures.

The lockers next to Lars rattled the more he twisted and flexed his fists.

_Leave him alone._

James looked like he did a year ago. Hurt. Scared. Vulnerable.

Ben looked just like Barry did years ago. Determined. Cruel. A fucking annoyance.

_Let it go, Lars._

The floor underneath Lars’s feet rumbled.

_Whenever someone makes you mad,_ mom said, _just remember to let it go._

He gritted his teeth.

_Let it go, sweetheart._

His lips turned into a snarl.

_Let it go._

Ben’s words came out in a long, slow whisper. “Mommy can’t help you anymore.”

The words, combined with James’s horrified gasp, sucker-punched Lars hard.

And then, James’s eyes turned wet.

_Let it go—_

Lars growled.

_No mom. Not this time._

He stepped forward. “Hey dickwads.”

Four heads turned to him in stereo. They looked him crazy, like they did when he was ten. Same with Ben, turning around last. Even James stared at him like he was doing the stupidest thing in the whole world.

Lars never felt as calm as he did then. Calm and _fucking angry._

Ben smirked. “What is it, Shorty?”

“Leave him alone.”

“Or what?”

Lars’s fists unfurled. He wouldn’t need them for this. “Last warning. Leave. Him. Alone.”

James’s eyes widened. He smiled briefly. James knew. James understood. The tables had turned, and now he was defending James instead. It was fitting, in a way. It began with those words, and it would end the same way too. As much as James knew him, this was the one thing he knew James wouldn’t understand. The one secret never told.

_I’m sorry._

Ben laughed. He waved his guys over as he stepped over to Lars. “C’mon boys. Let’s see what Shorty’s got.”

Lars walked backwards further into the hall. The light faded away as he submerged himself into shadows and darkness. There had to be distance between he and James for what he was about to do.

Of course they chided him. “What? You’re already giving up?”

“Pussy!”

“Short shit!”

Down the hall, James slowly stepped forward.

Lars shook his head no.

Ben led the pack. Cracking his knuckles. Saying the same shit Barry did. “C’mon, Shorty. You wanna play with the big boys, then let’s go!”

James stayed where he was. He looked worried. For him. Lars knew it’d be the last time.

Lars finally looked away from him to Ben.

He stopped moving back.

Ben’s fist pulled back.

Lars stared at it as it came for him—and then stopped an inch away from his face.

He smiled when Ben’s smug look disappeared into pure fear. “What… what the…” He struggled where he stood. “I can’t move!”

The others panicked too. “Neither can I!” “What the fuck?!” “What’s going on?!” “Shit!”

With a flick of his eyes upward, all five football players zoomed up into the air, crashing into the ceiling. 

They flailed in the air, shouting and screaming, as he rolled his eyes around slowly in a circle—and then slammed them to the left side of the hall. Then the right. He blinked, and they fell to the ground in a heap, all on top of each other.

Ben met his eye first. He was horrified. Stuttering, “What… what are…

Lars slowly smiled. “I warned you.”

He squinted hard, and all five football players were pushed back to the very end of the hall, skidding across the floor, scrambling around for footing.

The doors to the hallway slammed open. Lars shoved them out with one powerful mental push.

“Now get out! And don’t come anywhere near us anymore!”

He let his concentration go. All five football players went to their feet and ran away as fast they could, without a parting look or word said.

Their footsteps echoed down and out of the hallway, until silence filled up the void. Lars felt no triumph though over what he did. As much as he did feel good that those stupid football players learned a lesson, it came at a great cost.

He sighed and slowly turned his head to where James stood.

The entire time, he noticed James hadn’t moved. He was frozen in place, gawking at him, his eyes as wide as his open mouth. Where concern and worried had once been was now replaced with terror and shock. There was no reason to tell James why it had happened, or beg not to be afraid of him, because he _did_ have every reason to be. James was never the freak. He was. And he didn’t deserve to be around someone normal like James. He never did.

James slowly licked his lips. His breathing was heavily labored as he stuttered too. “W… What… What was… Did you…”

Lars sadly smiled.

_Goodbye James._

He turned on his heel and walked away down the opposite end of the hall.

A block away from the school, his walk turned into a run. When he was five blocks away, his run turned into a sprint. His face turned hot, his cheeks becoming wet. It hurt to breathe like it hurt to think, but he couldn’t stop. It didn’t matter where he was going, who he ran into or anything. 

He lost James. He lost his only friend.

Lars shut his eyes tight and ran faster.

**

_When someone meets something (or someone) extremely different, the first instinct is to be afraid. The second instinct is either to run away or ridicule. James was always ridiculed for his differences, so his instinct was to run away whenever anyone tried to come close. Except Lars. He was the exception, until now._

**

When he pulled into the driveway a little past midnight, James found the porch light off and the windows dark. For the first time since he moved in after his mother’s death, Dave and his wife weren’t in, and he felt grateful for it. Tonight he didn’t want to talk or see anyone. He needed to be alone.

A plate of food waited for him on the kitchen table with his name on it. James warmed it up in the microwave for a minute and brought it with him down the hall to his room. His stomach told him eat it. So did his brain. Instead, he let it rest on the end of the bed while he curled up on his side, staring out at his room.

Six hours later, and he still didn’t understand what happened.

He drove for hours, trying to make sense of what he saw. Lars, standing there, while five fucking football players were thrashed to and fro in the damn air, pushed across the hall and then ran away like yipping dogs. No one would believe their story if they ever told it. No one would believe himself either.

Lars hadn’t moved. Only his eyes did. It was like a comic book come to life. Superpowers becoming reality. But that couldn’t be right. Lars didn’t have powers. It must’ve been a trick. Wires or something. Maybe Lars paid someone. Any explanation made sense than the one his mind was telling him—that it was real, and Lars really did do it.

But if it was real, then how? And why? Did his parents know? Did anyone know? Was that why he left Denmark? Did someone find out?

James grabbed his pillow and stuffed it over his head.

_Why didn’t he tell me?_

It was the question that kept repeating in his head. The one he couldn’t answer. Lars and he weren’t supposed to have secrets, especially something as fucking big as superpowers (if they were real). Did Lars not trust him enough? Was he scared? He had no damn reason to be scared. Lars had the powers. Lars could do anything…

The shrill ring of the phone knocked him out of his thoughts.

James frowned. He pulled the pillow off his head and checked the bedside clock. Almost twelve-thirty in the morning. Dave never called to check up on him. Neither did Chris. And Deanna was off with their loser father on the road. Only one person left.

_Has to be Lars._

After five rings, the phone stopped. A minute later, they started again. James sat up on the bed, hugging the pillow in his lap, staring at his shoes.

_I shouldn’t pick it up. I shouldn’t care._

Six more rings, and the phone stopped and started again. The nagging feeling the call was something awful settled in the pit of his stomach.

He sighed. “Shit.”

The bed squeaked as he stood up, the pillow tumbling off. His feet shuffled across the carpet through the hallway and into the living room.

The house fell into silence when he finally picked up the phone. “Yeah?”

“Hello?” Torben’s voice. “James? Is this James?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, Mr. Ulrich. It’s me.”

“Is Lars there?”

“No, Mr. Ulrich, he isn’t.”

“Do you know where he is? He hasn’t come home yet.”

James felt his heart sink to his feet. “What?”

“We haven’t heard from him all day. Was he with you after school?”

“Um. Yeah. Yeah, he was.” He swallowed empty air, his throat dry. “But he, uh, he left.”

For the first time since he met Torben, he heard actual panic in his voice. “Did he tell you where he was going? Did he leave with anyone? Have you heard from him since?”

His hand holding the phone shook. “No, Mr. Ulrich. I, uh. I don’t know.” His voice dropped into a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, James. It’ll be okay.” Torben sounded more like he was reassuring himself. “Just give me a call if you hear anything from him, please?”

“I will.”

“Thank you. Have a good night.”

The line went dead.

James placed the receiver back down. It made a faint _click_ noise.

 

In the silence of the living room, his breathing sounded too loud. He swept a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends, as he turned around to face the window.

Outside the streetlights lit up the wet pavement and concrete. His truck was parked in the driveway since Dave’s car wasn’t there tonight. There was enough moonlight out to cast a bluish silver shine on the hood.

Lars left. Lars disappeared.

The hand in his hair slipped down the side of his face, pulling the skin.

“Shit.”

He slapped both hands onto his hips, shaking his head.

“ _Shit._ ”

There was a voice in his head telling him _don’t go, don’t you dare, he can move things in his mind like a mutant, what if he hurts you like he hurt those guys, huh, what’re you gonna do then._ But another voice, a louder one, told him the truth: _he needs you, and you know it._

James went back to his bedroom and picked up his keys.

His head shook as he turned on the ignition. “Fucking shit.”

He had no idea where to look first. There was a bunch of places he could’ve gone to, like the pizza parlor not far from school, or the music store they frequented all the time. But those places were closed by now and Lars was still gone. So it had to be something public. The park or the beachfront. One of those.

The beachfront was empty, save a few seagulls and a beach patrol car. He found the same thing when he went to the park. Birds, other night time creatures and a park security guard.

James beat his fist into the side of his wheel. _Where are you?_

The voices came back. _Give up,_ the loudest one said, _go home and sleep, he’ll show up tomorrow, you’re wasting your time, he doesn’t want to be found obviously, who cares, he’s nothing but a—_

He swerved on the road a bit. His foot instinctively hit on the brakes, and he slowed his speed down. Thankfully no one else was around. No people, no cops.

James’s eyes were wide.

_A freak. A fucking freak._

He shook his head no. “It’s not true.”

_And yet you said nothing,_ another voice said. The one from before. The one that made him get in the truck and on the road. _You let him go. You let him think otherwise. You have to find him, James. Think. Where would he go? What place means the most to you and him?_

He gasped. “The tree.”

The tires skidded on the pavement as he swung the wheel around and sped down the highway. It was the tree. It had to be. The day he let Lars in—a little way in, but he let him in. Lars climbed up right after him, the lunch pail in his mouth, and then… he stopped running away from him.

Their old elementary school wasn’t far away from their high school. Lars would’ve gone there. It was in walking distance. Running distance. There was no other place Lars would be except there, in the familiar, where it all began. Lars was just that way. He knew him. He knew Lars the same way Lars knew him. And yet Lars ran away from him, because he let him. Because he said nothing.

_I’m sorry Lars._

He parked the truck sideways in the parking lot. His feet made loud stomps as he crossed over to the chain-link fence door. Two powerful jerks later, it wouldn’t open. In the moonlight, the gold lock swung back and forth.

“Shit.”

James hooked his fingers into the fence. His feet followed, and it took him a good few minutes to climb up and over the top. He unceremoniously fell onto his back, but instantly hopped onto his feet.

Memory guided him to the old tree in the far back of the playground. Thankfully, not much had changed in the last few years. There was the jungle gym, the basketball court. His paced slowed down as he moved under the monkey bars, past the swings and around the big slide.

The old tree looked older in the moonlight. Taller length. Wider trunk. Autumn took away most of its leaves. But he could see the outline of someone there, sitting on the very edge of a branch he knew too well.

There was a loud _thump thump thump_ in his head, matching the slams of his heart against his chest. His breathing was labored, his face red hot.

_Lars._

James stopped a few feet away from the tree, watching flowers and leaves dance in the air—in a circle. Then a triangle. A figure eight. A square. And then, more flowers and dead leaves floated up, and his mouth slowly opened, as they took the shape of an animal. A lion’s head, with the red leaves making up the mane, and yellow flowers for eyes. His own favorite animal.

A hand shot out and swiped down. The flowers and leaves disintegrated into tiny pieces.

He was close enough to hear Lars’s sniffle.

_Lars…_

His feet acted first before his head. As he closed in, he caught sight of Lars in the moonlight: legs swinging lifeless, arms tucked tight around him, hair covering his eyes. And then the sounds. Telltale sniffles and hiccups that said more than words.

His hands were already touching the bark of the tree when his mind screamed at him _wait a fucking second_ —and he ignored himself as he watched two tears shine down Lars’s wet cheeks.

“Lars?”

Lars startled. His arms tightened around him as his head whipped around, hair sweeping away. Their eyes met, and James’s stomach gave way. It hurt seeing Lars like this. He _never_ saw Lars look this awful, ever.

Or this shy. “James?” Or scared. “What’re you doing here?”

Under different circumstances, he would’ve easily climbed up and joined Lars. But he was rooted in his spot next to the tree. The only way he was going to move was if someone physically moved him—

_Oh shit._

His brain was in scrambles. _This is stupid_. _This is really fucking stupid. This is so fucking_ —“I, uh.” He cleared his throat. “I need help.” He pointed up. “There.”

Lars’s sadness waned into confusion.

James’s cheeks turned pink. _Fuck it._ “Can you lift me up there?”

This had to work. If there was any way to say ‘I’m sorry’ as well as show he trusted Lars, it was this. As scared (and crazy) as he felt, this was the right thing to do.

Lars slowly blinked.

James bit down on his lower lip. His eyebrows rose.

A strong gust of cold wind came through. The leaves rattled, some falling to the ground. The bangs in Lars’s eyes whipped away.

He almost missed Lars’s soft question over the wind.

“Don’t you hate me?”

James didn’t hesitate. He shook his head no.

Lars seemed to shrink above, curling into himself. “But I’m…”

He easily finished his sentence. A weirdo. A freak. Strange. Not normal. All the things James thought daily. Everything Lars told him wasn’t true—because those were the words he reserved for himself.

“You’re not strange, Lars.” He smiled. “You’re special.”

And then, Lars slowly smiled back. “Okay.”

He didn’t realize he was floating until he felt his hand move away from the tree. His head jerked down—his feet were an inch off the ground—and panic seized him quickly. _Holy shit. Oh holy fucking shit. Holy fuckin_ g…

The ground gradually expanded in his vision. His shoelaces swayed. The wind licked his skin, whipped his hair over his shoulders, in front of his face. Instinctively his arms went out to balance himself. _Oh my God… I’m actually… this is actually…_

He lifted his head and he felt his body turned around in the air slowly. Very slowly. And he came face to face with Lars. They were at eye-level now. Lars was still smiling, but he seemed more relaxed than before. More like himself.

Lars grinned. “You can put your arms down, y’know.”

James blushed. “Oh. Uh.” He slowly relaxed his arms, letting them rest at his sides.

“You okay?”

“Uh. Yeah.” He looked down at the ground— _holy shit I’m too high up_ —and he looked back at Lars. “I’m, uh. I’m floating.”

“I can see that.”

“Screw you.” He tentatively pointed to the branch. “Can I…”

“Sure.”

His hair moved again, the branch coming closer in his vision. He reached out for it, but his body turned around again. _Oh shit. Okay. Be calm._ And he stayed calm when the back of his legs touched wood, and his body sat down comfortably on top. His hands clenched down on the branch, and he slowly turned his head to Lars.

“You good?” Lars asked.

James squeezed the branch again. “Yeah. I think. I got it.” He wiggled around, the branch creaking under his weight. He was definitely sitting on it. “Yeah. Yeah I’m okay.”

“Alright.” Lars tilted his head. “You know I won’t let you fall, right?”

James nodded. “I know.” He looked away as he whispered, “I trust you.”

From the corner of his vision, he watched Lars’s cheeks turn pink. Another gust of wind blew through, and Lars turned away from him, his hands flexing on his forearms.

Around them, the other branches moved with the wind, creaking here and there. More leaves fluttered down. James coughed and sniffed. Lars scratched a spot on his bicep.

Finally, James broke the silence. “Lars?”

“Hm?”

“I, uh.” He scooted closer to Lars on the branch. “I think you’re cool.”

A flower lifted up from the ground. Then another. And another. They danced in the air as Lars said, “You’re cool too James. I like you.”

“Mm.” A flower twirled around. James’s hand twitched on the branch. “I. Um.”

Lars turned to him. And froze.

James felt himself blushing with Lars. They were closer now. Much, much closer.

Lars looked scared. “James?”

James closed the gap between them. Their shoulders and legs touched.

“You’re really special, Lars.” He swallowed. “To me.”

Lars’s arms slowly unfurled.

Their hands met over Lars’s knee, James’s palm covering the top of his.

He felt Lars’s breath over his lips. “You… you’re special too. To me.”

Lars’s eyes looked perfect in the moonlight.

He watched them close first.

James followed suit when Lars’s lips touched his.

The flowers floated to the ground as the kiss deepened, their arms winding around each other.

 

**

_True love doesn’t exist. Neither does love at first sight. Soulmates might even be fiction too. But for James and Lars, they found something there between them, something as tangible and real as a little boy in Denmark born with very special powers. They didn’t know if it would last. They didn’t know if it was meant to be. But it felt right, and that was all that mattered to them._

**

_One year later…_

Prom night, senior year. The last ‘major’ event of their high school years, outside of graduation. Within a few months, they’d be legal. James first in August, he himself in December. They’d be adults, having to learn to take care of themselves, get a job, pay bills, maybe go to college. The future was uncertain, and sometimes, Lars wished he had the powers of premonition, not telekinesis. But it was okay. As long as he had James by his side, the future didn’t matter. Only the present did.

“Alright, we’re here.”

He shook his head, pushing his thoughts away for now. Beside him, James put the truck in park, turning off the ignition. In the distance, moonlight shined on ocean waves, casting a silver color onto the beach.

“Awesome.” He hopped out of the truck. “Let’s go!”

“Hey, wait up!”

He ran ahead in his tux, kicking up sand in his wake. James caught up, sand sticking to his own tux. Water caught him at his ankles as a wave rolled in, and Lars laughed, kicking his feet up one after the other.

“Shit!” James took a few steps back. “I can’t get this wet, it’s a rental.”

“It’ll dry.”

“Right. What’re we doing here anyway?” He patted down his legs for sand. “Didn’t we do enough for tonight?”

They had, really. Ice cream shop in the morning, IHOP for lunch, mall hopping, music store raiding, surprising James with an early birthday present—a guitar—pigging out on pizza, driving around listening to their new cassettes. It should’ve been enough. He knew Torben and Lone were waiting for them at home. But not yet. There was still one thing left he wanted to do.

He turned around, holding his hand out. “C’mon.”

James glanced at it, and then Lars. “What’re you planning?”

“Just take it.”

“You’re not gonna throw me into the ocean.” A beat. “Or mentally push me there as well.”

“I’m not gonna throw you in the ocean!”

“So you say.”

“Ugh.” Lars rolled his eyes and dropped his hand. Slowly he lifted up into the air, until his feet barely touched the surface of an incoming wave. “See?”

James’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit. How are you…I thought…” He came close. Water went up to his ankles again, and he seemed to not notice or care. His hand came to Lars’s thigh. “I thought you couldn’t do that. Y’know. Move yourself.”

Lars grinned. “I’ve been working on it.” He offered his hand again. “Now take it.”

James touched Lars’s hand—and stopped, giving him a sharp glare. “We’re not gonna fly, right? I’m not ready for that shit.”

“Nope.”

“Yet, right?”

Lars’s grin widened. He shrugged.

James chuckled, shaking his head. “Right.” He gripped Lars’s hand firm.

Slowly James lifted into the air, his feet aligning at the same level Lars’s were. Lars offered his other hand and when James took it, they lifted further into the air, until they were a good distance over the ocean.

James glanced down, his hands tightening around Lars’s. “Shit. Uh.”

“We’re not that high up.”

James gulped.

Lars floated closer to him. “Look at me James.” Blue eyes looked at him—terrified—and Lars leaned in. “Have I ever let you fall?”

James shook his head no.

“Then it isn’t going to start now. Alright?”

“Okay…”

“Good.” And he quickly let go of James’s hands to wrap his arms around his waist. “Now we can dance.”

“What?”

“It’s prom night, dude. You gotta dance on prom night.”

James deadpanned, “A mile over the fucking ocean.”

“We’re not that high.”

“It’s still pretty high.”

“Fine.” They lowered down a little in altitude. “There. Better?”

James glanced down. “Still high.”

“Shut up.”

James chuckled, his arms settling around Lars’s back. “You gonna put on the music now?”

Lars gasped. “Oh shit!” He groaned. “I knew I forgot something.”

“You can’t do it from here?”

“I’m not _that_ powerful, man!”

“Eh.” James shrugged. “It’s okay.” He pulled Lars closer, tightening his grip around him. “We’re good without it.”

Lars felt his cheeks heat up. “Yeah. We’re good.”

Slowly they turned in the air. The ocean was their only soundtrack, and its surface reflected the outline of their moving bodies. Their hair whipped around them, faces and shoulders, and Lars’s head gently rested onto James’s chest, cheek on the lapel.

He heard and felt James’s sigh. His warm breath felt good on his ear. “Y’know.” One hand slipped up and rested in the middle of Lars’s shoulder blades. “It’s not really dancing if, like, you’re the one moving us.”

Lars smiled. “Yeah it is. I’m leading you.”

“Shouldn’t I be doing that?”

“We can dance again later.”

“On solid ground.”

“Yep. On solid—” He pulled his head away from James’s chest to look him in the eye. “Did you actually agree to dance again?”

James grinned. “Maybe.”

“You totally just did.”

“For another school dance.”

“But this is our last one, you dick!”

James laughed. He brought Lars closer, arms tightening and chests pressing. “Lars…” His laughter petered off in a soft sigh—Lars’s heart skipped—and he leaned down to push their foreheads together, nose on nose.

“I love you.”

The soft whisper nearly broke Lars’s innate concentration. He pulled back a little to look into James’s eyes. “What?”

James’s smile was softer. His eyelids were heavy. The hand resting in the middle of his shoulder blades slid up to his neck, James’s large, warm palm covering it and squeezing gently. “I love you.”

He said it again. James said it again. The words he never thought he’d hear anytime soon. Even after being together for a year now, Lars didn’t expect him to say those words. And there they were, soaking into his brain. _James said he loved me. James loves me._

“I love you too.”

They came together in a warm kiss, their hair tangling in the ocean breeze. And in that moment, they didn’t feel weird or strange or unwanted. In each others arms, they had what they always wanted. They finally felt normal.


End file.
